


Teeth and Temptation

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood Drinking, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, London, M/M, Pining, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Vampire Mycroft, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Vamplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg never expected an encounter in the London fog to take him so far from the life he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_London 1904_

Mycroft Holmes had lived a long life,or, well, afterlife, if one wanted to get technical. He was careful and cautious and wielded his great power with care. Right now he was in London, perhaps his favorite haunt, though he wished they'd come for a better reason. He’d bought a small but expensive home and dabbled in the mortal game of politics as his mood suited him. Tonight though, he was hungry and on the hunt.

Gregory Lestrade turned his collar up to the chill and hurried past alleyways on his way home. He’d been kept far too late at work, and while he wasn’t actually afraid of the dark, it was unnerving. He knew the kind of creatures that lurked; filthy criminals and ladies of the night and other things, things that didn't have names or explanations.

Mycroft didn’t like drinking from junkies. They often reminded him too much of his brother. But desperate times and all that. He was standing in the shadows with his victim when suddenly through the London fog he was aware he was being watched.

Greg caught sight of a most suspicious thing, and stopped to check it out. Not his business, and foolhardy, most likely, but a posh man pushing about a street person didn’t sit right with him at all.

“Inspector Lestrade. Be needing any help, sir?” He spoke in a tone far calmer than he felt. His skin was crawling, and his slight shake wasn’t from the chill.

“Not at all.” Mycroft released his victim and watched the man stumble into the darkness of the deeper alley. This brave man before him would be far tastier. Something in those deep brown eyes called to him. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“Not harassing you then? My jobs done easy then tonight.” Greg’s instincts were screaming at him to run, but he had to keep calm. _Just a posh git in the wrong bit of town._ His brain was feeling a little fuzzy now, but that must just be the long shift. “Have a pleasant night Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft caught his arm. “Perhaps you’d like to join me for a late supper?”

“Nothing by it, sir, but I’ve a wife waiting.” Greg didn’t, not anymore, but Mr Holmes didn’t need to know that. And the man was attractive, captivating, but he wasn’t going to say that bit either. Not proper for a man of the law to go breaking it right after shift.

“You’re single at the moment,” said Mycroft, letting his hand trail down the man’s arm. There was _something_ about this man. Perhaps he could be more than just a snack. But first he needed to get him alone. 

“I’m not a deviant.” Greg hissed, though his heart raced at the thought. He’d never indulged, of course, but he’d been tempted. Never this tempted; this seemed different, not just more. His mind was spinning with images he’s seen in dirty books they’d collected as evidence in their last case, himself and Mr Holmes recast as the tragic lovers.

“Come along Inspector.” Mycroft took his arm, easily lifting him off his feet and confusing his mind as he raced back to his home with him. Dangerous, to bring him here, but he was intoxicated by him, by the warm blood he could hear in his veins. By the way he had not hesitated to confront him. And by the warm brown eyes and hair gone grey too early. As soon as they were safely in his house, he leaned in and kissed him.

Greg tried to push back, wanted to, but his mind was quickly becoming swept away. There was more here than some deviant shag, he could feel it. But every time he tried to grasp at the thoughts, they slipped like water through his hands. Or the whisper of the silk tie on the man kissing him as it slipped free of his collar. Fine suited wool moved under his fingers, the smell of some exotic musk filled his head and and he stopped pushing, gave in to the desire.

Mycroft carefully stripped the man and lay him in his sumptuous bed. He knew how to give pleasure and did so, watching the human writhe underneath him. By the time he bit down and drank delicate sips the man was already lost in his pleasure, coming weakly for a second time at the vampire’s bite.

**

Greg woke slowly, feeling too warm and sleepy, despite the light. _Must be dreaming_. He was laid out in a fine bed, far too large for one, and soft satiny pajamas had replaced his clothing.

There was a knock on the door and a man perhaps a couple years older than Greg let himself in. He was thin, blond hair going grey at the temples, carrying a covered tray. “I am Alfred. Master Mycroft would like you to make yourself comfortable. He regrets that he can not join you at this time. But bids you stay as long as you wish.”

“Master...hold on. What’s going on? I was coming home from…” It all started to slot into place, with definite chunks of fuzziness where he was certain the man was in bed with him and they were… He blushed crimson at the thoughts, and the effect they had on him already.

Alfred set the tray down on the bed. “If you need anything sir, please ask.”

“My clothes?” He asked, without looking at the man.

“In the wardrobe, sir.” Alfred bowed and stepped out

Greg waited for the man to leave and ventured over to the wardrobe. His trousers and jacket were hung, a little cleaner looking, but not spotless. Everything smelled of cedar rather than the wet and stink of London, like some kind of miracle. His socks were missing, as were his shirt and tie, but his hat was on the shelf and brushed clean of dirt and soot. Greg replaced the things he was missing with other items from the wardrobe, and dressed quickly. Peeking under the covered tray, he found a full breakfast and ate before venturing out of the bedroom.

Alfred intercepted him in the hallway. “Did you need anything else, sir? You’ll find the house is at your disposal.”

“A water closet?” Greg asked, and was directed further down the hallway. He used the facilities, and looked both ways out the door before venturing deeper. There was no sunlight under the door of the last room to the left, and it seemed too nice a door to be a broom cupboard.

Greg leaned into the room, smelling the thick perfume-like musk of last night’s memories. In another large bed, there was a lump under the covers, still as death.

Alfred appeared behind him. “He is resting, sir.”

“He’s not moving, not a tic, not a breath.” Greg had heard stories, seen suspicious corpses among the opiate dens, but he didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t even say the word his mind was screaming.

“You are not a prisoner,” said Alfred. “But he would like the pleasure of your company.”

“You act as if it’s normal for strange men to appear in his bed.” Greg accused.

“It is not. He rarely indulges in such things, at least as long as I have been in his employ. Rarer still for him to request they stay longer than a night.” Alfred looked at him as if trying to see what his master saw in him.

“I’m employed, not a lay about. What would I do here all day?”

“What would you like to do? He has books and there is his work. Or you may simply leave and return this evening."

“And if I don’t return to him?” Greg asked, shutting the door as if the sleeping man could hear him. “What happens to me?”

“Then that is your choice. He does not enslave.” Alfred withdrew a key. “This will get you through the gate.”

“Thank you.” Greg asked, though he wasn’t certain for what.

Alfred bowed. “Perhaps I will see you after sunset.”

Greg didn’t respond, just found his way out of the house. It was set a ways back, with a gate in the stone wall, like this was a medieval fortress instead of London. He noticed he wasn’t so far from his own home, as far as the city went. He’d almost have been grateful for more time to walk and think. It was illegal, immoral what happened last night, and he’d be mad to return. Plus the not so trivial matter of the two small puncture marks on his neck, which tingled where his collar brushed them. Despite that, he wanted to return. No shift today, he could go if he liked. He would, but only to return the shirt and socks, and warn the man of trying this again in his town. 

Just after sunset, Greg unlocked the gate and walked to the house. Alfred opened the door before he reached it. “He is awaiting you in the study,” he said as Greg crossed the threshold. Alfred walked him deeper into the house and pointed. “Down this hall, third door on the right.”

Greg handed Alfred the shirt and socks, washed and folded with the collar starched. The hallway seemed interminable, but at last he reached the door and opened it, his thoughts in order to lay out for Mr Holmes. Greg saw him then,standing at the desk, lamp light leaving him with an unearthly glow, looking like something from a painting by an old master, and all the words slipped away.

Mycroft looked up. He was confused by his own feelings. Any care he once held for normal humans should have been long gone. He poured a glass of wine and gestured at the chair. “Gregory, please sit.”

Greg sat, hands in his lap, waiting for the man to speak. He felt he could stare forever at his regal features, but the smooth deep voice was what got to him the most. Deep and oaky like a fine liquor he tried once in his youth, smooth and deceptively intoxicating.

“You intrigue me,” admitted Mycroft, handing him the wine. “And I haven’t been intrigued in a very long time. You know what I am, and yet you’ve returned.”

“I brought back your clothing.” Greg kept telling himself that was all, and he would leave. Any moment now he’d stand and leave. He couldn’t though, he was pinned by the man’s knowing eyes.

“And I appreciate it. Tell me, Inspector, if you could have anything in the world, anything at all, what would you choose?” Mycroft watched him closely.

“That’s an awful personal question, Sir.” Greg said all in a rush. Mr Holmes quirked his eyebrow, and he continued. “More peace and quiet, then, if you must know.”

"I do endeavour to live a quiet life,” said Mycroft “But if that is your life's ambition you chose a poor career."

“I make peace out of chaos. Help others sleep at night. That’s a worthy ambition.” 

Mycroft inclined his head. "That is true." He touched some papers on his desk. "French father, Irish mother and yet you chose to settle here."

“Not much choice, sir. S’where I was when they passed. A Great aunt lived here already, took me in.” Greg didn’t know why he was spilling out these stories, why he was still here instead of leaving. He should be getting back to his bed and a life that made sense; a life without enticing monsters with too knowing eyes. 

"You are a brave man, Gregory. And have a solid record. Honest too. Certainly you are rare." Mycroft leaned forward, wondering if Greg knew how dangerous this was. For both of them. 

“And I’m compromising that by not reporting you.” Greg stood and tried to stare him down, but got lost in his dark blue eyes, eyes that called to him.

"I am compromising my security by having you here and giving you a key." He reached for the warm, sun-touched skin of his hand. 

“Didn’t ask for…” His protest died on his tongue at the touch, and he took a step closer to the man. 

"I want to keep you, Gregory Lestrade. But I have never taken a slave," Mycroft's voice was soft. 

That snapped Greg out of it. "I'm no one’s slave," he snarled, yanking his hand back.

Mycroft withdrew from him, sadness and loneliness crossing his face before the neutral mask slid into place. He stood and moved away. "Leave, then. You belong to the light."

"I belong to myself." he said in a whisper. "Don't use your powers on me, and I can leave."

Mycroft nodded. "You're a good man. I hope you find what you deserve." He departed from the study. 

"Thank you, Sir." Greg left the house, still feeling the pull.


	2. Chapter 2

As the weeks went on, Greg found himself passing the house at dusk, though it wasn't on his rounds. He told himself he was merely keeping the city safe, ensuring that the monster was staying in his den. There were lights in the upstairs windows that could be seen past the wall and sometimes he thought he saw movement.

Mycroft watched him from an upstairs window. Every day Greg would stop and look up. Sometimes his hand would go to his pocket as if reaching for the gatekey. But then he would turn away again and take the last light of day with him. Mycroft knew he should leave London. The man would never find peace so long as he was here. With a heavy heart Mycroft gave orders to Alfred. He should have never brought him here, never given in to that temptation.

**

Three weeks after the meeting, Greg was woken after sunrise by an urgent knock. He wrapped his dressing gown around himself and peeked out the window. Mr. Holmes’s servant stood, waiting patiently for him to open the door. He nearly didn’t, but he feared the man was in need of help or hiding.

“Come in, come in. It’s chilly.” Greg started up the fire to chase away the chill.

"Master Holmes is leaving London," said Alfred without preamble.

“Why do I need to know?” Greg turned from the fire to face him.

Alfred met his eyes. "He pines for you. But he respects your choice. I have never seen him so unhappy. I know what you think of him and what he thinks of himself. But he tries his best to be good and has probably done far more than anyone realizes. If you truly have no desire for him then you will be free after tonight."

“Why do you defend him? You know what he is, how he sustains his facsimile of life.” Greg couldn’t understand why he would be so loyal to such a creature.

"He saved my life, sir." Alfred move closer to the fire. "I was a four years old foundling. More than half starved and destined to be just another dead waif. It was winter and even at my young age I knew it would not be long before I joined my parents in the churchyard. Still, I did what I could. I was sleeping where I could, trying to find any warmth. My destiny changed when I slept in that particular doorway. When I woke I was in a proper bed. He got me a doctor and an education and raised me as his own. I could have had anything I wished, but I chose to be his servant. He was so alone, sir. Still is."

“He did not enslave you with his power, or use you for his desire or blood?” Greg was confused, a monster shouldn’t care for a foundling, raise him like a ward. Perhaps it was a lie, a clever trick to bring him back. But Greg’s gut told him the man spoke truth.

"Never, sir,” Alfred watched him. ”I became aware of what he is young, but I told you he does not enslave. When I came of age he tried to get me to leave, introduced me to society, made sure I had money. Even simply left me one warm evening and didn't come back. It took me a year to find him again. He pleaded with me not to stay, to live my good mortal life. But I couldn't, sir. They say his kind don't change but I grew up with him. I could see how hard things had been for him. How alone. He finally accepted my decision, though there have been efforts through the years to get me to leave and have my own life. I stay because he needs someone, because it is useful to have human eyes that can travel in daylight. But he has never tasted me in any fashion. Please, sir. I have never seen him so," Alfred’s tone turned pleading.

“Is he resting now?” Greg hadn’t decide to go yet, but he suspected Mycroft wouldn’t move until after dark either way. He’d have time to think.

"Yes, sir." Alfred swallowed and turned back towards the door. "If you do not come I will understand. But I would like to see him comforted. He will not have me much longer."

“Are you unwell?” He noticed again how thin the man was and how pale his skin.

Alfred nodded. "It was why we came to London. I suppose if I asked for his blood he would give it, but he's always wanted me to be human, as I said. However, I fear for what will happen when he is alone again."

“May I think on it, I’m...I’m not sure how I feel about returning to that house.” Greg would go, he knew he would, but he wasn’t ready to say it outloud.

Alfred nodded and pulled his coat tightly closed, as if remembering another chill. "Of course, sir. You still retain the key. Thank you for listening." He bowed. 

“Of course.” Greg showed him out, bidding him farewell. He curled up by the fire, waiting out the daylight and trying to strengthen his resolve. He would see the man, but wouldn’t be lured to his bed again.

**

Mycroft was surprised when Alfred showed the Inspector into his study. He carefully kept distance between them, packing the last of his books. "Afraid you caught me just as I'm leaving. I will not be bothering your streets again."

Greg watched a moment as he busied himself. As if he were afraid to even look at Greg. Could a monster be afraid? “Alfred told me how he came to live here, to serve you.” 

Mycroft froze, still as death. He let the clock tick as he carefully considered his next words. "Alfred means well. But I survived before he came to me and I will survive after. He should never have stayed with me once he came of age. Perhaps I should have sent him to boarding school. He got too attached to me. Sentiment." Mycroft's voice went rough with emotion.

“I don’t understand, Mr Holmes,” Are you or are you not a…”

"A vampire, Inspector. That is what you would call me. Or would you prefer monster? Perhaps demon?" Mycroft pulled books off the shelf with unnecessary force. "I am a creature of the night and you should have no dealings with me. I should have never brought you here. Go home."

“Then stop pulling me, calling me.” Greg growled in anger. That was the only way he could imagine feeling this way about a man without admitting to something to immoral, something _wrong_ within himself.

"I have stayed away. I did not ask Alfred to see you. I did not ask you to come tonight. You are free to go." Mycroft refused to look at him.

"You pull me. My mind can't leave you and this house for long." Greg raged at him. "You touched me and drank from me and I'm drawn to you for more."

Mycroft bit back his emotions, tried to keep his careful mask in place. "I am sorry. And I am leaving. What more do you demand of me? What retribution would you take?"

Greg stepped closer, fists clenching. "Will that stop it, or will I pine for you all my days, search for you like a madman?"

Mycroft closed his eyes, remembering Alfred appearing on his doorstep a year after he’d left him behind. How for once Alfred shouted at him, pleaded with him, demanded he be allowed to stay. How he’d begged the then young man to leave, to have a life in the sun. But Alfred had always been stubborn and when Mycroft had finally gone to his day’s rest, he’d woken to find his ward had become his servant and refused to be moved from that position.

Slowly Mycroft turned and regarded Greg for a long moment. He reached under his desk, listening for Alfred’s heartbeat to make certain he wasn't hovering, and took out a rough wooden stake. "If you wish to ensure my destruction I will not stop you." He placed it on the desk between them and stood very still, waiting.

“I wish to understand,” demanded Greg. “Why is my...my body calling for you? What did you do to me? Will I become like you?” Greg moved nearer him then, near enough to feel the way Mycroft’s lifeless flesh drew heat rather than projected it, like a living thing would. Near enough to feel the pull double and triple, and to have the image of him on _that_ night spring to mind.

"I do not know,” admitted Mycroft. “I have never truly had a lover. A nights delight yes, but since I was changed into this I have never...I am as attracted to you. I was from that first moment. Which is why I have tried to stay away. Destroy me, if that is what you wish."

“I don’t...I’m not…” Greg fought for words, but his urges overtook him. His mouth met Mycroft’s cooler one in a violent, one sided kiss.

Mycroft moaned. He should pull away, give this human what he'd requested from the start. But his hands cupped Greg's hips and his own resolve faltered at the heat against his mouth and pressing against his hip.

Greg pushed him roughly against the wall and explored his now open mouth, ground against his body, took from him. It was all bliss. If he’d stopped, thought about this, he’d recall stories of intoxication by vampire saliva, but they had been rumors. This was not drugging, this was purest need.

Moaning, Mycroft surrendered to his searing touch. This wasn't clouding someone's mind, this was raw and his still heart ached with the force of it. Greg's hands were going for his belt and he remained pliant underneath him. 

Greg reached inside his trousers as soon as they were loose and cupped his erection, warmer than the rest of his body but still cooler than the fever hot temperature of his own skin,

Mycroft bucked against his hand, so close already. He was vaguely aware his fangs had dropped but he did not bite as he spilled over the human's hand.

“God Almighty, Mycroft, touch me.” Greg cried, desperate.

Mycroft yanked open the human’s trouser and stroked him, just as few pulls until Greg was moaning and coming hotly over his hand. His throat was tempting and he turned his head to avoid biting. 

Greg clung to him, shaking and whimpering. It was several minutes before he could think straight.

“S-sir?” Greg gasped out.

Mycroft pulled the human's trousers up. "You don't have to stay." His voice shook. "You will not be changed."

“I still feel the pull.” Greg whimpered. “Why can’t you stop it.”

If Mycroft could cry, he would have. "I'm so sorry." He pulled away from the human, closing his own trousers. "I'm so sorry," He repeated as he headed for the door. He should take himself away, now.

Greg grabbed the stake off the desk and followed him down the hall, “Come back and talk to me Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft stopped and faced him, trembling. If his heart could beat it would be drumming against his ribs. He could hear Alfred at the foot of the stairs, pacing and no doubt trying to decide if Mycroft needed him. "Do it, Gregory,” he hissed, “release both of us."

“I’m not a murderer, unlike you. I’ve been in the dens, seen the junkies you killed. Answer me why.” Greg gripped the wood at his side, unsure if he could even do it. What was he expecting to hear?

"I do not kill those I drink from. I'm not the only one of my kind. I never asked for this life. Did you not wonder why I had that so close at hand?"

Greg stared at his own hand, at the weapon he was gripping. He reached out for the man with his other, touching his face. “You really didn’t kill them. Why do you have this?”

Mycroft raised his left hand, showing an ugly scar on his wrist, though that was from when he’d been human. "When I was first changed, I did things. I changed my own brother... I tried to throw myself into sunlight. But I could never do it. Too much a coward even in the afterlife. I learned to survive, to make the most of what I had. Alfred isn't the first I've raised. But I'm still a monster, as you put it. Still cursed. I fly from those that would destroy me, even as I crave their release."

Greg dropped the stake, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Why me?” He put himself back against the wall, going weak.

"I don't know. No human has ever made me feel what you do."

“So you can’t…” Greg pulled him close again, putting his head to Mycroft’s chest. “I’ll always want you?” 

"I don't know." Mycroft was stiff against him as he repeated himself. . 

“It’s not because you are who you are?” Greg felt the fine suit under his hands, felt the ghost of that night.

"Could be,” Mycroft thought again of Alfred, though none of his other wards had stayed. And the very few lovers since he’d changed had always been a night of release and never thought of again. Gregory was different then all of them, even remembering the affairs of his human life. “I've never felt like this. I've always been... deviant as you say. Inverted."

“That’s the legal word for it, yes.” Greg dared a question. “How long is always?”

"I was born about 350 years ago. My proclivities have always been frowned upon."

“You’ve been like this for over 300 years?” Greg was incredulous

"Yes. I suppose that makes me far too old for you," he joked weakly. 

“I don’t think so.” Greg stared at the ground, nervous all of a sudden. He wanted to be near the man, hold him, touch him in ways he hadn’t since his wife had died. If it wasn’t some trick of vampire magic, could it be… He couldn’t say the words even to himself.

“What are you thinking, Gregory?” Mycroft watched him, anxious.

“If it’s not some trick or spell on your behalf, well… I’ve felt this once before. Not exactly the same, but near enough.”

“What happened?” Mycroft looked at him, all his long life feeling like it was coming down to this moment.

“I married her.” Greg leaned up to kiss him before pulling back to look into Mycroft’s blue eyes.

“You lost her.” Mycroft touched his cheek. “And I’ll lose you, eventually.”

“Is that something you want to think of right now?”

“No.” Mycroft leaned in and kissed him again, gently. It felt like some last barrier was crumbling inside. “I’m still leaving London, it’s probably best. Alfred has always loved the coast. Will you come with me?”

“I don’t know. It’s sudden, but…” Greg looked at him. “Yes.”

Mycroft kissed him again, tenderly.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later found them on the Irish coast in a quiet house. Alfred had taken a turn for the worse not long after arrival and Mycroft spent much of his awake time by his side.

Greg tried to understand more about the man he’d abandoned his life to follow. Alfred spoke some about Mycroft as a guardian, while the man himself slept in the darkened room across the hall. Fantastical stories that Greg had trouble believing, but felt to be true. He ever heard some about Sherlock, Mycroft’s brother, who was also turned.

Alfred answered all of Greg’s questions as best he could, knowing that Mycroft would want him to. “He has never turned anyone since his brother, I believe. And he regrets doing that.”

“Did Sherlock not take well to it? Mycroft doesn’t speak of him to me.”

“Mycroft was changed unwillingly. But he gave his brother the choice before he really knew what it meant. I think maybe he acted out of loneliness, but Sherlock has always resented him for it and they rarely speak.”

“Does he live in London?” Greg straightened the man’s blankets and checked the sun. It was nearly set, and Mycroft would be waking soon.

“He has in the past. I’m not sure even Mycroft knows where he is now.” Alfred settled further into the blankets against the chill. “You should ask him about his change. The vampire who changed him still lives, though I don’t know much about him.”

“Do you need anything else before you sleep, Alfred?” Greg tucked him in.

“No, sir. But thank you for taking care of him for me.” Alfred gave him a weak smile.

“Rest, I’ll see that he is alright tonight.” Greg slipped out of the bedroom, full of orange tinted sunlight, and crept into Mycroft’s darkened room and bed.

Mycroft stirred and wrapped his arms around his lover. “How is he?”

“Fed and resting as peacefully as can be expected. I’m no doctor, but…” All three of them knew what was coming.

“He’s beyond doctors now. He had a good life, despite his stubborness," said Mycroft, resigned. 

Greg cupped Mycroft's head. “Why did you never give him what he asked for? He’d take it right now, if you offered.”

“He’s never asked for my blood. And that...it’s a curse as much as anything, Gregory.” The thought had certainly crossed his mind, the temptation to keep Alfred by his side.

“He’s never said the words as such, but you’d be a fool to think he’d find it a curse to stay and care for you.” Mycroft nuzzled his neck and Greg held him there by the back of his neck. “And what if another asked for your blood?”

Mycroft shivered. “You don’t know what you’re asking. But...I would like our family to stay together.” He closed his eyes. “Too tempting.”

“Your time is limited, lover. think on it. He’ll pass soon, but you can take this pain from him.”

“But what about a hundred year from now? Would he still be content to be by my side?”

“Yes. And if not, you’d let him leave, no questions asked.” Greg was certain they weren’t talking about Alfred now. “And if he wanted killed, freed from it, you’d do that as well.”

“I’ve only ever turned one, and he hates me for it. I couldn’t bear to be hated by Alfred, or by you.” His thoughts raced with the possibilities. 

Mycroft hadn’t moved his head from Greg’s hold, and his cooled forced breath was drawing goosebumps from the skin. “You need to feed, lover, you’re colder than yesterday. Alfred told me to watch for it.”

“Do you really think Alfred wants me to change him?” Mycroft could hardly believe he was considering this.

“Speak to him when he wakes. Don’t let him lie to you. He’s afraid to leave you without someone who knows you, can care for you. I’m not sure if that’s all of his reason to long for the change, though.” Greg rolled his lover back to the bed. “Now tell me how soon you’ll be feeding, or I’ll force feed you.”

“If I am going to turn Alfred, then that will be plenty.” Mycroft watched his lover.

“You need to eat some before he wakes.” Greg took his wrist and pressed it to Mycroft’s lips. His lover hadn’t drank from him after that first night, and he found himself craving the feeling again.

Watching him, Mycroft let his fangs drop. He kept their eyes locked as he slowly penetrated the skin.

Greg gasped, but didn’t move. There had to be something on the fangs, something that made the pain slip right into pleasure, until he was whimpering and wriggling on top of him, head gone fuzzy.

Mycroft sipped delicately before pulling out and licking the wound. He leaned up to kiss Greg, running his hands down the mortal’s body.

Greg tasted his own blood on Mycroft’s lips, and it drove a moan from him. “Enough for now?”

“Blood, yes. May I make love to you?”

“Please.” Greg gasped, rolling his hips. 

Mycroft kissed him again, moving their clothes, wrapping a hand around his lover’s cock, stroking him with a practiced hand, hyper aware of his heartbeat and his need.

Greg rutted into the circle of his hands, lost to the cold feeling of his soft hands and the rhythm he kept. He was perfectly paced as if Mycroft could read his mind.

Mycroft watched him, drawing it out, but not enough to harm him. He finally squeezed a little tighter and Greg came over his hand, moaning deeply against his lips.

Greg curled against him for a time, coming back to his mind after the pleasure. When he’d calmed, he kneeled over his lover and touched him, neck trailing down his torso and to his urgent cock.

“Yes, please,” moaned Mycroft, a hiss escaping his lips as that hot mouth wrapped around his cock.

Greg lacked experience, but tried to mimic the things Mycroft had done to him. He must be doing well, based on the sounds his partner was making and the look on his face.

Mycroft tangled a hand in his hair, guiding him, urging him. He tried to give warning as he came.

Greg swallowed what he could, allowing the rest to spill from the corners of his mouth. He looked up the bed with a sloppy mouthed grin.

Mycroft pushed him back, kissing him deeply, licking up the mess, tasting the hint of blood that lingered behind it.

“Lie with me?” Greg asked as he yawned into the kiss. “Just a little, before you go see him?”

Mycroft nodded, and held him close, until his sated lover fell asleep. He kissed Greg’s forehead and went into Alfred’s room, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Not dead yet, Sir.” Alfred said with a small smile.

Reaching out, Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. “Alfred...you have never asked me...do you want me to turn you?”

“Will it take away the pain, Sir?” Alfred shook, and his voice was weak.

"If your body accepts the change then you'll become like me." He pulled Alfred into his lap. "I've always tried to give you a human life and you've always come back to me. Even becoming my servant. I never understood why."

“It allowed me to stay with you, Sir. I simply wanted to stay with you as long as I could.” Alfred lay his head against Mycroft’s shoulder, seeking small comfort.

Mycroft kissed his forehead, remembering all his time with Alfred. And he knew he owed him this, at the very least. Silently, he lifted his hand and slit his wrist, near the scar. “If you wish me to change you, drink.”

Alfred put his lips to the blood, the first sip careful, the second a fuller swallow, the rest greedy gulps like a starving man.

Closing his eyes, Mycroft waited until he felt Alfred’s strength start to grow. Then, wondering if he would live to regret this, he dropped his head and bit, sucking poisoned gulps of Alfred’s sick blood, feeling his body destroy the threat and render it harmless.

Alfred was delirious, knowing only to swallow what was provided. He felt like fire, as the venom rushed through his body. His strength came to him like never before, and suddenly he understood what he was becoming.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Mycroft held him tightly. He was shaking, wanting to apologize even as he didn’t want to stop. Drinking like this was always arousing and he knew Alfred could feel it below him.

Alfred pulled his lips away to moan in pleasure, the changing far more pleasant than he had ever imagined it could be. He licked and sucked again, loathe to miss a single drop.

Mycroft pulled back and bit the other side, listening to Alfred’s heart slow and stutter as death approached. Perhaps he was imagining the sting of tears in his eyes.

Alfred let out a ferocious growl at the moment his heart stopped. 

Mycroft held him, drinking just a little more to be sure the poisons were gone. Shaking, he lay Alfred back in his bed and looked up at where Greg was watching from the doorway. “It’s done. Now it’s up to his body to accept it.”

Greg reached for him, to pull him from the room. In the hallway, he spoke low. “Is there a chance his body would reject it? Was he too far gone?”

“I believe I pulled the poison from his veins. But yes, there is a chance.”

Greg pulled Mycroft into his arms. “Are you well, my love?”

“I am afraid, Gregory.”

“You know the risks greater than I, but I think it will all be well. At least he is out of pain, either way.” Greg kissed him, licking the blood from his lips.

Mycroft moaned and simply hugged him. “You should sleep. I can wait with him.”

“I’m not tired, I’ll wait with you, if it’s safe for me to do so.”

“I think so, but if I tell you to go, you’ll need to.” He took Greg’s hand and went to sit by Alfred.

They sat quietly for a bit. After a while he felt Greg’s fingers trace the scar on his wrist. “That was from long before I became this,” he said softly.

“What was it like, before. Who were you?”

“My family was well off. I entered the world of business and politics. But, well, you know my proclivities. An enemy found out and threatened to blackmail me. I tried to take my life rather than face the disgrace. My brother found me.” 

Greg stroked his back, imparting whatever comfort he could. “What happened to your enemy?”

“He vanished. We thought we’d rid ourselves of him. But a few years later he came back...changed. He used another to seduce me, and when I was vulnerable, they forced the change on me. I only offered to my brother because he’d saved my life, and at the time, I thought I was returning the favor.”

“He does not see it that way.” It wasn’t a question, but information gleaned from all the conversations with Alfred. 

“He lost someone he loved dearly when he changed. That is what he has never forgiven me for. Nor do I blame him for it.” Mycroft sighed and looked at Gregs fingers on his skin. 

“Alfred only loves you, My. He loses no one.” Greg kissed his cheek softly.

“I love both of you, in different ways.” Mycroft admitted. He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I only ever wanted Alfred to have his human life. Instead he stayed and stayed and brought you back to me.”

“Even you can’t command the heart, my love. He’ll be well.” Greg held his cool hand. 

They waited the long hours, Alfred sometimes shifting or speaking, but never fully there. Greg dozed on Mycroft’s shoulder after a time, and was woken to a rough growl.

“Gregory...will you feed him? He needs human blood.” Mycroft was holding Alfred securely. The newborn vampire looked half wild. “He’ll settle down after a good meal. And I won’t let him hurt you.”

“How do I...Just my arm?” Greg’s voice shook, but he reached out his hand.

Mycroft carefully turned his hand over and brought it to Alfred’s lips. He bit down eagerly and Mycroft nearly whimpered at the sound Greg made. He watched them both, until he took Greg’s wrist away and licked the wound, tasting the blood himself and resisting the urge to drink.

Alfred licked his lips but made no attempt to take more than he'd been given.


	4. Chapter 4

Greg woke in his bed, a bit chilled but otherwise well. He recalled the night slowly, his mind sticking at parts, like Alfreds feral eyes and the feel of a strange set of lips on his skin. The sun was high in the bright blue sky, a rare, clear day. He ate a small breakfast, the house feeling off and empty in his mind with no other beating hearts in it.

When he could put it off no longer and dusk lay on the green land, Greg crept to the dark room, Mycroft’s room, though probably no longer his alone. There his lover slept, limbs entangled with another, and he swallowed down a pang of jealousy. Mycroft had belonged to this man before Greg, and would belong to him in a way forever. He began to back out, when Mycroft stirred.

“Come here, Gregory,” said Mycroft softly, though he knew Alfred wouldn’t wake.

“Is it...can I?” Greg hardly spoke loud enough to be heard, the image of feral eyes at the forefront of his mind. 

“It’s safe. He’s sated now, and I’ll be able to teach him properly." He met Gregs eyes. "Do you wish to be turned as well?”

“Will you be able to control two like him? I don’t want to…” Greg crawled into bed with him, curling small like a scared child.

“I believe so.” Mycroft kissed him. “I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too.” Greg whispered as he kissed him, the faintest remnants of blood mixed with his dark taste, like a heavy perfume.

“Allow some time for Alfred to adjust. I need to make sure I’m at full strength again anyway. If you still wish to change in a fortnight, I will do so. I’m going to have to hire someone human anyway.” 

“I can wait. I want you safe. Hold me a while longer?”

“Of course.” Mycroft kissed him gently, praying that everything would work out, for all of them.

**

Greg spent the time making arrangements for them, having a larger bed brought in as well as blacking out the second room. He didn’t know who would sleep where the dust settled, but he wanted them to be ready. They hired a new serving man, from a family Mycroft knew of that was familiar with their needs and issues.

Greg slept alone many nights, late nights into mornings, not wanting to intrude upon the new bond forming. My came to him a few time, and they lay together in the newly dark room, touching each other and making love quietly, but Mycroft never stayed the night .

“Do you still wish for me to change you?” asked Mycroft late one night, stroking Greg’s hair as he faced him. 

“Yes.” Greg’s voice was shakier than he’d hoped it to be. He was certain but frightened, despite the leaps and bounds of progress Alfred had undertaken. He’d fed once more from Greg, and taken only a small meal of it before pulling himself away.

Mycroft heard the wavering, but he leaned in and kissed him before biting his lover’s throat. He took a few deep gulps before slitting his wrist and offering it to Greg.

Greg drank and he cried out, the burning sensation frightening him. 

Mycroft held his shoulder, trying to give him strength, even as he kept drinking. 

“It’s all right,” Alfred was suddenly there behind Greg, running his hands through Greg’s hair.

Greg struggled a bit more, but the blood was still pouring into his mouth and it was swallow or choke. Several gulps later, he relaxed back into Alfred and devoured the gift.

Alfred held him gently, listening to his heartbeat stutter. Mycroft withdrew his fangs as it ceased.

“He’ll be well, Sir.” Alfred assured him, reaching over Greg’s still form to wipe a drip from the corner of Mycroft’s mouth and taste it.

Mycroft looked at him a moment, then leaned in to kiss him. “I never thought I’d turn anyone else, and now I’ve done this to both of you”

“We asked. Now we can keep you, love you, forever, Sir.” Alfred kissed him soft again, and smoothed over his cheek. “You don’t have to be alone any longer.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, Alfred, you know that.”

“You’ve been Sir so much of my life, but I am trying.” Greg stirred between them, and Alfred cooed calming words against his ear. Greg murmured back, but it was hardly words.

Mycroft kissed Greg tenderly. “I feel selfish.”

“Feel lucky, S-Mycroft. Let karma give you a gift.” Alfred could feel need bubbling up, but he fought it back. Sir was not his to have.

Mycroft turned his head and kissed him, letting his tongue slip into his mouth. They'd grown even closer over the last month and he wasn't blind to Alfred's desire. 

Alfred kissed back, grinding against Greg before realizing. He pulled back, licking the taste of Mycroft from his lips. “You’re not mine, like this, Sir.”

“I love you both. We’ll see, when Greg is better.”

Two hours before dawn, Greg’s eyes opened into the dark, but he could see perfectly well. Mycroft lay before him, smiling at him a bit tightly. He felt someone behind him, and turned his head to see Alfred, appearing calm as he ever was. Greg tried to speak, but his voice was rough and his mind was stuck on one thought. He could smell human everywhere, and he needed. He tried to rise, but four arms held him tight.

“It’s time,” called Mycroft.

The young man who was working for them stepped into the room. He nodded at the vampires and offered his wrist.

Greg reached for it but was restrained. Mycroft brought it to his lips, and he bite down, the hot iron tang quenching his thirst. He sucked greedily, and snarled when the arm was removed from him.

“You can have more later,” said Mycroft. He offered his own wrist.

Greg bit and sucked at it as well, though the taste wasn’t nearly as good as the first one. When that wrist was removed, he was offered a third, and he drank slower, sated and calming, feeling a little sloshy with the fullness. He pulled back first, and watched as Mycroft licked Alfred punctured wrist. It fired a jealousy in him, and the lunged for his lover’s lips.

Mycroft kissed him, then pushed him back. “You need to rest.”

“I am well. Can’t you see I am? Will you touch me, or does my new form put you off?”

“Nothing could put me off you,” said Mycroft quietly. He kissed him again. “But you just changed. Believe me, you need to give it time.”

“I don’t want time!” Greg shrieked, and he heard a pan drop in the kitchen.

Mycroft pushed him back again and covered him with his body. “If that’s what you need…”

Greg rolled his hips, longing to fill the man as he was promised he could once he changed. Mycroft probably had not meant the same night, but Greg didn’t care. He kissed Mycroft viciously, determined, but froze when a hand slid between them and gripped his cock. Alfred lay beside them, eyes wide in need, and he captured Greg lips with a hungry kiss.

Mycroft ran his hands up Greg’s body, then touched Alfred. “I want both of you,” he admitted quietly.

Greg pulled back from Alfred, pulling trousers and underclothes off. Alfred undressed himself and helped Mycroft. When they were bare, Greg grabbed Mycroft by the hips and pulled him back down, turning him until Greg and Alfred had him sandwiched, facing Alfred, rutting against him. 

Mycroft moaned, Greg’s skin still had a ghost of warmth. He parted his legs and gave a small cry as Greg started pushing inside, treating him roughly with his need. Alfred stroked them together on the other side. Mycroft surrendered to their hungry need.

Greg had never felt anything like this, this all consuming pleasure. He thrust roughly, spurred on by Mycroft’s hungry cries.

Alfred kissed Mycroft, then Greg. Greg bit Alfred’s lip and sucked, the flow of cold blood making his hips stutter. Alfred pulled away and bit Mycroft's neck, moaning his pleasure. Greg sunk his teeth into Mycroft’s shoulder as he came.

Mycroft cried out and came, shaking between the two of them, feeling his blood flowing freely into his two young vampires, growing weak.

Greg pulled away first, bringing his wrist to his lovers mouth when he felt him shaking, feeding him to ease his tremors.

Mycroft drank carefully, almost too weak to suckle it. 

Greg urged Alfred to feed him as well, as they fell into a post coital stupor, still messy and entangled as the slept away the light.

When Mycroft woke again he realized both vampires were curled around him. They needed more rest than he did, after all. He kissed one forehead, then the other, still feeling weak. He needed a proper living meal. Getting up carefully, he told the servant he would be back shortly and headed out to hunt alone.

Greg woke at what he guessed was two hours before dawn. Alfred lay on the bed near him, but Mycroft had long since risen. His mind said his lover was merely in the study, but his instinct cried out danger. He wasn’t certain how he knew, but it was like another sense.

“Alfred, wake. Something isn’t right.”

Alfred was awake in an instant. He looked around. “Master Mycroft must have gone into the village to fed.”

“Are we allowed to feed as well?” Greg asked, his hunger still lurking in the background.

“I’ll see if Thomas is awake and amenable. You need to eat more than I.”

“He’s already given.” Greg tried to find words. “Something isn’t right with Mycroft.”

Alfred nodded. “Youre bonded to him more tightly than I. Come, I will teach you to drink when we get there.”

Greg followed, relishing the speed he’d been given in his new life. 

Alfred helped him drink from a villager on the outskirts of town, being sure he didn’t take too much. “I think I can feel him.”

“He’s not far, no, but I can’t tell where. The scent is muddled.”

Alfred sniffed the air. “Hunters,” he whispered. 

Greg went statue still with stress. “Hunting animals, or us?”

“Us. We’ve run into them once before.”

“How have they snared him? What do we do?” Gregs fists flexed, needing to protect his mate. 

“He was weak when he slept. We need to move cautiously. At least they haven’t killed him yet.” Alfred moved slowly, cautious. He'd been human last time. This time he was much stronger. 

Greg followed behind, watching for traps or others, until he could hear Mycroft’s pained cry.

“...bait for the other filthy blood suckers…” The hunters had to be ready for them. 

Alfred’s fists clenched. “We need to move carefully.”

Greg fought the urge to run to his lover, killing all those in between. That was foolhardy at best, fatal at worst.

Alfred led the way around a low wall until they could see the group around a small fire. Mycroft was bound, the glint of silver in the firelight. Three of the hunters stood over him, hitting him again and making him cry out “There are ten of them,” said Alfred. 

“Ten?” Greg waited for the surge of fight of flight, but it never came.

“Yes. You get those three that are torturing him.”

“I can take three?” Greg asked, stunned.

Alfred smiled at him. “I’m taking seven. You’ve got your strength. And if you can get him free, he’ll help.”

Greg nodded, waiting for Alfred's signal, then flying into motion. He marveled at his own powers, snapping a neck, breaking ribs then a jaw, grabbing one by the throat and sinking his teeth in as the ripped and tore. Blood filled his mouth and he became lost in it.

“Gregory!” Mycroft shouted a warning as a hunter came behind his lover. He pulled at his bonds, unable to get free.

Greg spun, body forgotten and the next willing throat in his mouth. Hhis strength was multiplying quickly, and he felt boundless, wild.

Alfred dispatched his fifth. One got behind him and he cried out in pain as a knife cut him deep.

Greg ripped at Mycroft’s bonds, the silver metal burning him but it was worth it.

“Help Alfred,” panted Mycroft, getting to his knees.

Greg lunged for the hunter, who’d been knocked aside, and tore his arm clean off in one go. Another swiftly lost his guts to a sweep of stolen knife, and Greg was gasping though he needed no breath.

Alfred rolled to his feet, looking around at the carnage. “We need to go. We need to be far away by daylight.”

“Feed. Some are still living.” Greg urged them both.

Mycroft crawled to the nearest one to feed, not even caring as he ripped the man’s throat out. Alfred helped him to his feet. “You've got a safe place we can go?” asked Greg. 

“Yes," said Alfred. "Hurry.”

Sunrise was less than an hour away, but they darted off, headed east to a small farm a twenty minutes run from the hunter’s lair.

Mycroft was badly wounded and exhausted, covered in blood. Alfred was injured nearly as badly, holding his side. They slipped into a root cellar and hid from the encroaching daylight. "At least the knife wasn't silver," he muttered, settling against the cool wall 

Greg offered a wrist to each of them, so full of energy and life blood that he was nearly vibrating.

Mycroft drank greedily. The wounds faded a bit, but they would take time to heal, especially where the silver had touched his skin. He curled up and quickly fell fast asleep. Alfred pulled away and pressed a greedy kiss to Greg's lips, still fired from the battle, despite the pain.

“Will Mycroft heal alright?” Greg asked, tracing his fingers tenderly over Alfred’s already sealed cut.

“With time. He will need to rest. We’ll need somewhere safer to recover, but this will do for the day. You fought bravely. I am glad for you.” Alfred looked up at him in the dark. 

“I killed a lot of people tonight. More than I ever have in my life. And yet I’m alright.” Greg settled next to him. 

“They were trying to kill us. And torturing Sir...Master Mycroft. I have no regrets.” Alfred looked over Mycroft's still form. 

Greg pulled Alfred to him, finding comfort in the embrace. “Thank you.”

Alfred kissed him again, with a little more need. “You’re a very good man. I knew that from the first.”

“I owe you so much.” Greg murmured against Alfred’s lips, tugging him into his lap, pushing clothes aside. 

Alfred rocked against Greg. “We help each other.” He scraped his teeth along Greg’s shoulder.

Greg pricked Alfred's fingertip and suckled it, urging his new lover to draw from him in turn. The exchange of blood was a sex all it’s own, intimacy.

Alfred bit Greg's throat carefully, mindful even now. He guided Greg against his entrance. There had been a few lovers, throughout the years, when the need got to be too much, but it was always Mycroft he craved. And now Greg 

Greg slid inside, slow and tender, leaving Alfred’s fingertip to find his blood covered lips. He licked inside, making slow love with his tongue as well.

Alfred moaned and rocked against him. Part of him wondered if he could have this with Mycroft as well. But he’d be happy to take whatever he could get.

They fell asleep entangled, moving to curl protectively around Mycroft. They all slept deeply, and woke past dark, Greg sated still from the meals before.

Mycroft sat up slowly, smiling at the sight of both of them. And clearly they'd been intimate. Mycroft found he held no jealousy. They all needed one another. He kissed one, then the other. “We need to keep moving,” he said softly. He hated being on the run.

“The nearest good house is south of here. We can arrange for Thomas to meet us there, or here to take us, if you’re still weak S-Mycroft.” Alfred assesd the man, and found him more well that he anticipated.

Mycroft blinked. “Really?”

“There’s many houses, Mycroft. You haven’t been to half of them.” Alfred reached for his hand. 

“You’ve always taken care of me, haven’t you, Alfred?”

“Always.” Alfred kissed him. "And now I always will."

"We take care of each other," said Greg, looking at the other two, and not for a moment regretting what had led him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to HumsHappily for the beta


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